"That's more than I can say," Yoncalla said. He was sitting on a rock with his chin in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees.

"You can always go back into your crystal if you'd rather," Kitarak told him.

"No," Yoncalla said quickly, lifting his head. "Not that. This body isn't mine, and this world isn't paradise, but at least it's real."

"You should try the world Kayan made," Jedra said, reaching up to the crystal at his neck. "It's beautiful."

Kayan shrugged. "Actually, it's a lot like yours. I made the water a little warmer so I could get into it and pull myself around with my hands, but otherwise I just copied a stream and a pool like I'd already seen in your world."

"Swimming," the immortal said.

"What?"

"You were swimming. I do it all the time. Or did. I don't suppose there's enough water to fill a bathtub in this world anymore."

"Bathtub?" Jedra asked.

Kayan laughed. "We still have them in the palace."

Yoncalla didn't smile. "When I ruled here, even the peasants had bathtubs. And water flowed in mighty rivers over the surface of the land."

Kitarak said, "Many of us have dedicated our lives to bringing those days back to Athas. You would be a powerful addition to our team, since you know firsthand what we are trying to re-create."

"Not in a dwarf's body, I won't," Yoncalla said.

Kitarak rasped his arms against his thorax in agitation. "I will try to find you something better," he said, "but I will not become a necromancer for your benefit."

"There are plenty of bodies left over from every gladiator game," Yoncalla said, "like that big elf who fought so well. Why didn't you get me a body like his?"

A sudden chill ran down Jedra's spine. "What big elf?" he asked. "Not Sahalik?"

"Was that his name?" Yoncalla said. "I wasn't paying much attention until after I saw how good he was. If he hadn't slipped in a pool of blood, he would probably have won."

Jedra looked to Kitarak. "Was it Sahalik?"

Kitarak nodded his insectile head. "I'm sorry. He fought gloriously, but as Yoncalla said, he slipped, and..."

"And he's dead? Just like that?"

"That is the way of the world," Kitarak said. "At least for now. Perhaps in time, if we succeed in bringing back the riches we once had, we can use these crystals to conquer death for everyone, but unfortunately we were too late for Sahalik."

Jedra sank back to the ground. Sahalik couldn't be dead. He was too mean to die. Mean and cocky and self-confident-and lately, at least to Jedra, compassionate as well. And he was next in line to be chief.

"What about the Jura-Dai?" Jedra asked. "What will become of them?"

Kitarak shook his head. "Life in the desert is unpredictable. They may survive to become a great tribe once again, or they may not, but their story is their own. Our future lies down a different path."

"Does it?" Kayan asked. "And what path is that?"

Kitarak swiveled his head toward her. "Am I making an unwarranted assumption? I had thought that you would join us in our attempt to transform Athas into paradise again. With a little more training, you could be among our most powerful allies yet."

"Could we, now?" Kayan asked teasingly. To Jedra, she mindsent, What do you think? Is that what you want to do? What do you think? Is that what you want to do?

He could sense her eagerness. She was taunting Kitarak just for the fun of it, but she wanted what he offered. Even though she could retreat to her own private paradise whenever she wished, she wanted to bring it about in the real world instead. And so, Jedra realized, did he. He wanted more than just a pretty world; he wanted to upset the system of sorcerer-kings and templars and nobles and the abuse of power that led to slaves and lovers fighting in the gladiatorial arena for others' entertainment. He wanted to build a whole new society where nobody lacked food or shelter, and where everyone had a chance to succeed at whatever they wanted to do.

Sure I want to, he replied. he replied. More than anything else. Except spend the rest of my life with you, of course. More than anything else. Except spend the rest of my life with you, of course.

That could be a long time, if we use these crystals of yours, Kayan said. Kayan said. Are you sure you mean that? Are you sure you mean that?

I'm sure. He drew her toward him and kissed her. He knew their lives would not be perfect from here on out. Kayan had once told him that there were no happily-ever-afters in this world, and he had seen enough to understand the wisdom in the elves' credo, "Hope for the best but expect the worst, that way all your surprises will be pleasant." But for just an instant as they kissed, there in the desert with their mentor once again at their sides and their future dedicated to a worthy cause, all the cares of the world vanished in an eternal moment of glory. He drew her toward him and kissed her. He knew their lives would not be perfect from here on out. Kayan had once told him that there were no happily-ever-afters in this world, and he had seen enough to understand the wisdom in the elves' credo, "Hope for the best but expect the worst, that way all your surprises will be pleasant." But for just an instant as they kissed, there in the desert with their mentor once again at their sides and their future dedicated to a worthy cause, all the cares of the world vanished in an eternal moment of glory.

ABOUT THE A AUTHOR.

Ryan Hughes is the pen name for Jerry Oltion, a science-fiction writer whose short stories appear regularly in Analog, Analog, the the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, and various anthologies. His novels include and various anthologies. His novels include Frame of Reference Frame of Reference and two books in Isaac Asimov's Robot City series, and two books in Isaac Asimov's Robot City series, Alliance Alliance and and Humanity. Humanity. His short-story collection, His short-story collection, Love Songs of a Mad Scientist, Love Songs of a Mad Scientist, was recently published by Hypatia Press. was recently published by Hypatia Press.

Jerry lives in Oregon with his wife, Kathy, and the obligatory writer's cat, Ginger.